


The Pre-Dawn Hours

by eidolon



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2011-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 21:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidolon/pseuds/eidolon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Fenris discuss Fenris' options following Hadriana and Danarius' deaths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pre-Dawn Hours

In the mornings, he slept. When the light had changed, and the sun was edging close enough to the horizon to declare twilight, he could sleep. Until then, he watched the night move through the windows or watched the fire devouring another log in a vain attempt to heat the drafty house. It hadn't been kept up well, and had suffered worse since Fenris had been living there; he didn't consider it a home, and as such, wasn't interested in investing time or energy into it. Sweeping up the broken tiles to avoid cutting his feet and replacing the mattress with something inhabited by fewer vermin were his contributions to the house's upkeep. He straightened some of the furniture for Hawke, when he began visiting Fenris.

"You live here," Hawke had said, resting his chin against his hand. "Aveline has made enough excuses that it seems you're likely to continue living here. Or you could find another place - we earn enough coin doing other people's errands to afford it."

"I like this," Fenris said tightly.

Hawke raised his eyebrows. "Do you? Living in something that must seem to you like the broken shell of your former master's influence?"

"It was his. It isn't, now."

"Like you."

"Like me."

"Fenris..." Hawke said, making his way carefully through the many traps and pitfalls in any conversation with Fenris. Saying the wrong thing would shut him down and shut him up for the rest of the night, and make their conversation stilted for days afterward. "You killed him. What would happen if you tried to live the rest of your life without him remaining your focus, as a thing to throw your hate against?"

Fenris shifted, looking at him directly. "When you were a boy, did you ever play a game that involved holding on to a rope and trying to pull hard enough to pull the other boy over a line on the ground?"

"Yes. I think most people did."

"I watched some children playing this in Lowtown the other day." He looked toward the window again, noting the subtle change in light. Two hours until dawn. Hawke seemed to prefer these late night conversations to ones in the light, too. "One of the boys let three other boys take him on. They were much smaller than he was. They pulled as hard as they could, and when they were straining hardest, the older boy laughed and let go his end of the rope, causing them to all fall down on top of each other."

Hawke's mouth flattened. "Yes. A fairly common bully's trick. I assume he laughed at them."

"Of course." Fenris shifted again, uneasily, frowning at his own thoughts. Hawke was an honest man. He didn't demand honesty from his companions, but Fenris believed he deserved it, because he was honest whether or not it served his interests. Sometimes it did his interests a grave disservice and his companions had found themselves in a mess more than a few times because Hawke's sense of honour was as strict as it was. Fenris didn't care, particularly, about the messes: he admired Hawke's willingness to stand up for what he believed was right. Which included disapproving of bullying children.

He waved one hand vaguely, "Imagine, Hawke, that I have spent these years playing such a game with Danarius and Hadriana. They're dead. The memories will continue to hold the rope. I see no way to put it down without coming to more harm."

"Surely we could help you." Hawke said reasonably.

"Help me?" Fenris scoffed. "Help me how?"

One side of Hawke's mouth pulled into a wry half-smile. "Grab the middle and take up the tension long enough to let you get your feet."

"And how do you propose to do this?"

Hawke looked into the fire. It was burning low, but the embers were still bright enough to see Fenris clearly. Right now, Hawke imagined Fenris resembled the embers: glowing with anger and flickering shadows. "They _are_ dead," he said quietly. "While you may remember almost none of your life before he erased your memories, you've spent years here with us. We've done good things. It hasn't all been roses, but we have _helped_ people, Fenris. We haven't left things worse than we found them. Maybe it can be enough to have done that, to have been your own man this long, and maybe it is enough to start from. No one can take your memories from you, now. You can live forever in hate, hating the dead, or--" Hawke shrugged "--put the rope down and walk away."

Fenris stared at him, then shook his head slowly. "Hawke - no. Nothing makes sense without that... anchor."

"And it's drowning you."

"Why do you care?" Fenris snapped, unnerved by the path of this conversation. "What is it to you, whether this drowns or devours me?"

"I like to think we're friends," Hawke said lightly. "If we're friends, I think it should matter to me whether or not something drowns you or destroys you. You are _better_ than what they tried to make you. You are _more_ than what they tried to make you. You aren't an animal to be locked in a cage, or paraded for someone's entertainment. You're not a _slave_ , Fenris. Unless you're a slave to your hatred, and that is something I can't simply watch happen to you, particularly knowing how much you value your freedom."

Fenris was silent a long moment, turning this over in his mind, reining in the impulse to throw Hawke out. He watched the window, the edge of the sky beginning to turn purple. Finally, he rubbed his eyes and said, "Who am I, then, if I am not my mother's Leto, nor Danarius' Fenris, nor the Fenris who cares for nothing but vengeance?"

"We'll figure that out, if you let it happen. If you're willing to stop straining against the landslide that buried the other end of the rope. You've won that particular battle. Now you have to decide where to go next. What I know for certain is that you will not have to go alone, unless you insist on it."

Purple and indigo, the stars still flashing in the night. He shrank back in his chair, hating himself for doing it, hating Hawke, too, for the moment. "I think you should go," he said, forcing the words out.

Hawke stood, watching him briefly, and then turned to let himself out. "I mean it, Fenris," he said.

"That's the worst part. You're always so bloody _sincere._ "


End file.
